


Seekers

by BlueEyedArcher



Series: Outlast One-Shots [16]
Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: One Shot, Post-Mount Massive Asylum, Private Investigators, Survival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-22 09:05:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12478104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: Waylon is approached by a man looking for Miles.





	Seekers

“Um, excuse me sir. I'm looking for this man.” The stranger showed the tall blonde male a photo in hand, the man within the picture was a brunette with dark green eyes, his hair slightly messy in a slept in look that worked for his finer features. An athletic build tucked within a dark brown jacket. His expression neutral but his eyes tired. The photo looked like the kind used for employee identity badges. The kinds major companies keep in their systems. “His name is Miles Upshur.” The man asking wore a dark suit and looked like a professional. Not the kind of person to be going around asking random strangers if they've seen a lost relative.

 

The blonde gripped his coffee cup a little tighter in hand. The morning was cold, he could see his own breath on the chilled air. The first snows had already fallen for the season and many of the mountain roads were blocked off, impassable for any vehicles not specified for the weather. The town was quiet as he stood there outside the cafe, scarf wrapped around his neck, hiding the scars of nearly being hung by a mad man. His gloves were thick, keeping the chill away and covering his already bandaged hands. His clothes were baggy and thickly insulated, hiding the metallic brace on his leg helping him move without a cane or crutches. He didn’t want unnecessary attention. He didn't want to stand out and yet this man had randomly picked him out of a handful of folks leaving the small quaint little coffee shop.

 

He felt a cold sweat begin beneath the many layers of winter clothing bundling his body. His heart sped up as he gave the photo a good long look. _Blood and shadows...The Walrider...the echoes of a decades old song playing in empty halls. Haunting melodies of pain and terror shrieking from the depths of that building. A former husk of depravity and a pretty damn close representation of the true hell on earth._

 

“Sir? Are you okay?” The man asked, giving him a good long look.

 

The blonde shook his head and gave a weak smile of reassurance. “I… I'm sorry. I don't think I've ever seen him before. Is he- is he someone important?”

 

“You could say that. He's a journalist that had gone missing a few months ago. We're just hoping locals like yourself might have seen him pass through here.” The man's tone was strong, a heavy force of authority that reminded the blonde of his old employer.

 

The blonde nodded slowly in understanding. “I see. I hope nothing bad happened. It would be ashame for the family. Oh, are you his family?” He asked, giving the man in the suit a long look up and down. He had dark slicked back hair and dark eyes, a narrow face with a beaky nose. He seemed like the poster child for stiff upper class men.

 

The man seemed to be put off at the question and cleared his throat, giving a curt shake of his head. “No, Mr. Upshur doesn't have family. I've been hired by a concerned employer to help find him.”

 

The blonde male nodded, glancing at the photo once more before delivering a sigh. His fingers fiddling with the cup on hand. The steam escaping the lid through the shipping slits next to the rim. A gust of wind caught at them as it past, pulling at their bodies with icy fingers and drawing a shiver from the lithe blonde. _I hate this cold._ He hunkered over his cup. “I wish you the best of luck then. If you don't mind, I'm going to be on my way. I'm not inclined to become a popsicle today.” His words were playful, a plastic smile on nervous quivering lips. Dried and chapped, a hint of coffee on them still from his first interrupted sip. His eyes were wary, pale blue orbs flitting around from the man to the area around him as if expecting others to come. As if expecting _them_ to come.

 

“Alright.” The man sighed, giving the photo a glance before tucking it away. He played the part of a man giving up but his dark eyes were cold and narrowed on the blonde. A knowing glint resided within those beady dots that put the blonde on edge. It was dangerous and unsettling. “If you hear or see anything, just give me a call.” He handed over a business card, it had a company logo and a single number on it. Nothing more. No name or position. “I'll answer right away.”

 

The blonde nodded, taking the card and tucking it into his from jacket pockets. He gave the man an appreciative nod and watched him turn and leave before he himself scurried away. His heart hammering in his chest, terrified of the fact he slipped up. He had to have. There's no other way to explain it. He had to leave. To get out of here. To another town. Another crappy apartment. Another anywhere. He crumpled up the business card as he rounded a corner and dropped it in the accumulating snow on the ground. His bad leg practically dragging behind him, joints frozen stiff from the cold and the pain of his wounds reminding him of his earlier plights. Of the dangers that he had faced and that still seek him out. Nobody is safe and nowhere is safe.


End file.
